Try, Try Again
by speck2993
Summary: OC tries to kill Taylor. He can't, in fact, take her.
1. Chapter 1

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Chapter 1:**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Small, stifled grunts echo through the abandoned building. All around there is browning iron, and more every day; the walls are going out, revealing the metal skeleton that supports the structure. Every day, the skeleton is suffocated by the air; it weakens continually, and some day, perhaps, the whole thing will crumble. Some of the rooms house gang tags and the fading smell of weed; the rest are dusty and unused.

The grunts are coming from one of these rooms. An adolescent is alone - at least, he seems young, but the shaved head and inexpressive face make it difficult to tell. He is either imprudent or very well-informed, because he seems unconcerned with the possibility that gang members have passed out in one of the adjacent rooms - it's not an uncommon occurrence. He is laying on the floor, his body completely straight. After a few seconds and a long breath, he lifts his arms and legs, supporting his entire weight on his abdomen. He reaches his hand forward slightly and pushes a button on a digital clock; the clock is brand-new, stainless steel, and some feet behind it sits a cardboard box with a picture of the clock on the front.

The clock's display changes to display 0:00. His breathing is even. The clock ticks up. 0:10, 0:11, 0:12. His right arm starts to descend, but he grits his teeth and slowly moves it back. 0:15, 0:16. The rhythm of his breath is starting to change now; his lungs expand and contract against the concrete, and the faint sound of exhaled air can be heard in the room. Outside, all is still quiet.

0:45, 0:46. A faint grunt, followed by a sharp breath; he shakes his head and continues.

1:05, 1:06. A small tremor begins in a leg; he can't quite tell which. He slowly brings his legs together behind his back, steadying both, then separates them again.

1:21, 1:22. The tremor returns in an arm, and this time he makes no effort to still them. His eyes are closed, his teeth are clenched, his skin is stretched tight against his face, hugging his skull. His breathing is uneven; the rhythm faintly resembles "Call Me Maybe," a song from Earth Aleph, but surely that is a coincidence.

1:40, 1:41. A shout, followed by several quick, shallow breaths.

"Not worth it," he mutters. His arms and legs are shaking.

1:55, 1:56. His arms start to come down, and there is another shout, louder this time. The arms will not go back up, but he can keep them from descending further.

Two hours later, the clock displays 2:00, and he collapses all at once. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath, and his arm reaches weakly to another button on the shiny clock. He depresses it, and the clock displays 4:45 a.m. in black, blocky symbols. He pushes himself up, getting his feet under him, and shuffles vaguely into a soft chair, also brand-new. There is a large stack of books beside the armrest, in various states of disrepair. He grabs the book on top of the stack, a small leather journal with holes on the margins of the cover. The book's front and back are curling up at the contour, but the pages inside seem fine; the middle section is a bit wrinkled, but most of the pages are either a pristine white or covered in neat black ink.

He consults a page near the beginning of the journal, a list of several dozen books, accompanied by some sort of organizational system. "A History of Parahuman Activity (change?) - 89 142 220 311 401 480 575." "Jiu Jitsu - 31 86 107 161 200 241 266." Several others.

He opens a thick book - "A History of Parahuman Activity," according to the title. He turns to page 575, frowns for a moment, then consults the table of contents. He turns ahead again, to page 577, and begins reading.

Some time later, the clock hits 6:25 and starts beeping insistently. He notes the page number, strikes out the number 575 in his journal with a precise line, and writes a new number - 647. He underlines the word "changes" on the same page, then turns to the first blank page in the journal. "Day 140," he writes, then "3/3/11." The previous entry reads "Day 139 - 2/1/11," the one before that "Day 138 - 6/16/11."

Then he starts writing; diligent notes about the activities of the day. Exercise records, notes on his reading, commentary on the situation in general. The journal has such records dating all the way back to "Day 9 - 5/8/11."

When he's finished his entry, he carefully pulls out a needle and sews the journal into the inside of his shirt. The pages open easily to fit in the new space.

He walks over to a mirror, or, at least, the portion that still hangs on the wall. He studies himself in the cracked mirror, then walks out of the door, drinking the last of a bottle of water and breaking into a jog.

"I'm going to fucking _kill_ her," he mutters.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Now it's 6:42, and a girl rounds a corner at a jog. He lies in wait behind the wall, a gun in his hand. She runs by, barely registering him. He shouts to calls her attention.

"Hey, don't move another step."

The girl turns around, not quite as scared as she should be.

"There you go. Give me your wallet."

The girl is getting less nervous by the second. He shifts his stance and tightens his grip on the gun.

"I didn't think the Empire Eighty Eight went after white people. Is there a change in policy?"

"I'm not with the Empire, and I never will be. Wallet, now." He tries to keep the tension out of his voice, but it won't stay down. He's prepared for this, but there is still a morbid thrill to it.

"You're not E88? The shaved head could've fooled me." The girl is no longer retrieving her wallet. "In any case, you chose the wrong target today."

He grimaces. _If only she knew_.

"What's your name, mysterious mugger man?" The girl smiles viciously.

"Gage Argus," he says. He punctuates his statement with a gunshot; the bullet flies straight toward the girl's chest and lodges itself there. Blood flows from the wound and she starts to scream.

The scream deepens

Deepens.

It's not a scream anymore; the girl is roaring, less in pain and more in anger. Gage steps backward and fires another shot, this one at her head. The bullet doesn't penetrate the skin - there is no skin by the time it reaches her skull. The bullet deflects off of the scales, and another guttural, bone-shaking roar comes forth. And suddenly Gage gets it.

" _Lung_. Damn." He is muttering quietly, but the girl hears him.

"Good thought, but no. You wouldn't _believe_ how quickly I regenerate; a punctured lung would have been no trouble." She looks up and gives him a strange expression; it would be a glare, but her face is entirely devoid of anger. "You know, I would have let you live if you had held your fire. It's unfortunate that you made that mistake."

More bullets fly from the gun, but both she and Gage know that they won't do much damage. Smoke curls up from the girl's mouth when she breathes, and her hands are magma red.

Gage starts backing up slowly, then throws himself to the right as a blast of fire comes from the girl's hand. He starts running at her, discarding the empty gun and drawing a knife. She throws another casual blast of fire, and he dives out of the way again, throwing the knife toward her so as to avoid stabbing himself. He's on his feet as soon as she turns, running straight at her as he draws another knife from his belt. She attacks again, but he's already moved, just to her right. He slams the knife toward her face. The first stab glances off of the emerging scales; the second hits something squishy. She screams. An eye.

Gage reaches back to stab again. Before he can start his next attack, his body is totally engulfed in flame, as is the ground within a foot of the girl. She steps from the fire, howling in unison with Gage. Her eye is growing back quickly, and her screams are calming.

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, clawing at his face.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 141 - 4/28/11**_

 _ **Never done this day before. Dogeared page accordingly.**_

 _ **Jake leaves his gun on his bedside table. There's a guard at the mall, so getting the clock is hard; taking Jake's alarm clock is better; the saved time makes up for the inferior display.**_

 _ **Day 140 confirmed that she changes the books. Every Day is a new history, consistent with her, but somehow manufactured so that she ends up there. Start indexing books, particularly**_ _ **A History**_ **,** _ **to keep track of her powers.**_

 _ **Sounds like there's somebody else in the building. Probably skinheads.**_

 _ **Don't**_ _**-**_

The entry ends there. A tear of blood drips onto the bottom of the page, staining a good centimeter of the notebook crimson. There is a jagged hole in the page, small, about half a centimeter in diameter. A thin thread runs through the hole, loosely hanging off of the paper, as if the hole were made hastily, too big for its contents. The thread snakes up to a shiny needle, which has been shoved through a white cotton shirt and into Gage's chest, right next to a gaping gunshot wound.

"Looks like we got 'im," says an Asian man. "That'll show the fuckin' Empire."

"Let's see what he got on 'im," says another man. He steps toward the moribund man. "Whaddya think this book is for?"

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, clutching his chest.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **A/N: My writing has recently gone from borderline-readable to borderline-unreadable, which means it's time to start publishing. My friend keeps recommending fics to me, and it seems far too convenient that every iteration of Taylor triggers in the locker and gets to test her powers on some hapless mugger, so I've decided to riff on that for a while. I'm not well-acquainted with the Worm fandom, so I apologize in advance for any tropes.**


	2. Chapter 2

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Chapter 2:**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 142 - 1/18/11**_

 _ **On 4/28/11, it's the ABB, not the Empire. Do not approach; they fire on sight. A note to that effect has been made.**_

 _ **It may not matter; I don't know if the cycle will continue, given that I didn't fight her. I'll try to live normally from here on out; if I die and come back, then I know that the cycle continues, and if the cycle doesn't continue, I don't want to find out.**_

Gage rises slowly from bed, sewing the notebook into the inside of his shirt. He begins to walk toward the door.

Just before he reaches the door, he hears a piercing buzz, and his window explodes. The shard of glass fly all throughout the room; one goes through his heart.

 _Oh. Shatterbird_.

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed with a relieved smile.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _There's nobody here_.

It's 6:42 and the road is empty. There is no sound of footsteps; that consistent sound is gone. Gage can hear its rhythm in his head; two repeated beats, essentially uniform, getting louder as the distance decreases. But when his ears strain, it is not there.

Gage waits for the footsteps, the heavy _clop-clop-clop_ of feet hitting the ground. He waits for shallow breaths, for the soft scratching of cotton on itself. They do not come.

It's 6:52 and road is empty. Gage's arms are resting at his sides; his nervousness has long melted into boredom, and that boredom is giving way to something else. Not quite longing, not quite disappointment. It is a quiet, muted sadness with nowhere to go.

There is a sound, now. Not the sound of jogging, or, indeed, the sound of movement at all. Gage swivels his head suddenly, unprepared for this sound.

It is the sound of sobbing.

He comes out slowly from behind the wall, keeping his body low. If she is there, she will notice; if it's not her, he would prefer to stay secretive.

A black-haired girl is walking slowly toward the corner where Gage is standing. Her shoulders are shaking up and down, tremors on top of deep, heavy breaths. Her head is tilted down; she can't even see twenty feet in front of her, to the corner where Gage is emerging. She pushes her glasses back up her face, and they rest there for a few minutes before starting to come down again.

"Hello?"

The girl's head jerks up, and she steps back. Her tears stop, and are drying against her face. Her hands come up.

"Who's there?" Her voice shakes.

"I . . . uhh . . . " Gage cannot answer. Of course he cannot answer. The truth is too cruel to say, and any lie would be too far removed from the truth to believe.

"I was just passing through" _(in the loosest sense)_ "and I heard something. Are you doing alright?" He is almost sympathetic. The feeling floats gently up his body, toward his mind, but somewhere along the way it encounters a wall and dissipates.

"I'm fine, thanks." The girl starts walking, a bit more quickly than before. Gage does not move.

"You can . . . wherever you were going before. I don't need help or anything."

Gage waits for a fraction of a second more, and then something is _wrong_. Something about the way she talks, or the way she stands. _Something_. Gage starts walking toward the girl, and as he approaches her the feeling intensifies. Suddenly he breaks into a frantic run. Until she is five meters behind him, then ten, then twenty. Within five seconds she's disappeared behind the wall and Gage is breathing hard.

 _Empath, probably_ , he thinks. _Got to take her out from a distance_.

Gage jogs slowly back to the corner, and sees the girl turning another corner ahead. He pursues her as quickly as possible without her noticing, hoping that she'll end up on a long, straight stretch and he can finish it. He stalks her for a minute, getting more irritable all the while. He walks along the boardwalk, and he feels a thump on his chest. A man in a suit bounces off of his shoulder, repositioning himself to Gage's left, and turns around indignantly.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!" An invitation to respond in kind. A response that will be met, and fought over. An exchange of aggressive words that will become insults, that will become a fight. A fight Gage can win.

But all a waste of time.

Gage stays silent and turns right. She must have heard the outburst, and he doesn't want to be recognized. His anger sits.

Another minute. Gage is still angry, but not at the man who ran into him. It's a latent, undirected anger that simmers under his skin and makes his whole body stand on edge. His lips are curled up into a subconscious snarl; the people he passes move out of his way with looks of indignation.

Gage never gets the chance to line up his shot. The girl arrives at her home and enters, presumably hoping to take a shower. Gage finds a bench in a nearby park, with a line-of-sight to the girl's door, and tries to cool down. Slow breaths, in and out. He has practiced meditation in his martial arts, and in a sense it is working.

Twenty minutes later the girl steps out of the door, and Gage's body shoots upright. He forces himself to look away; there's still a chance that she'll recognize him. She walks down her front steps and onto the sidewalk, her pace brisk but not too rapid. Gage follows her, keeping again to the shadows. Once she is three blocks from her house, Gage starts to jog, quiet but intent, staring at the small of the girl's back. He's covered half the distance when the girl increases her pace to something slightly faster than Gage's. He speeds up again, and again, she matches his pace, this time giving no delay. Gage breaks into a sprint; he's been honing his body and technique for over four months now, and the girl can no longer keep pace.

She takes a wild right turn and Gage plants hard on his left foot, springing off in her direction. She turns again, and Gage keeps pace. She turns twice more, and finds her self in a dead-end. Gage stops running when he sees her. She has her back to the wall, and her body is shaking all over. Gage reaches for his knife, but he has difficulty grabbing it. He is shaking too.

"Why are you following me?" The girl speaks first, although her voice is quivering.

"I . . . " Gage stops himself. His voice quivers too. He puts his knife-hand forward, the blade angling toward Taylor.

She understands; her eyes widen in shock. She brings her arms slowly to the level of her chest, and before Gage can react, she _pushes_ , her arms moving forcefully toward Gage. The tension in her face relaxes by a fraction, and Gage freezes. Panic invades his face. A few seconds later and he is running again, running as fast as he can, because something is _wrong_ with that girl.

A few seconds later, his run becomes a jog, and then he turns back abruptly. _Empath, dammit_. He breaks back into a run, trying frantically to find the closed alley where he had confronted her. By the time he gets there, she is, of course, gone.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

The bell rings at Winslow High School. 9:15. First period has just ended.

Gage walks through through the front door, which squeaks as he pushes it back. Perhaps a security guard should stop him; with his head shaved and muscles toned, he looks an _awful_ lot like an E88 enforcer come to stir up trouble. But there is no guard today, and if there were, he would not be stopped.

He does not know where to find her, but he suspects that she will be there somewhere. Perhaps she won't be in school at all; given the path she was taking from her house, it seems most likely that she will be. Unless he scared her off, in which case . . .

He doesn't _know_ what happens in that case.

She's probably here. The issue is finding her without getting picked up by her power. Gage walks forward, his eyes scanning the main hall, and he gets lucky; she's standing there, leaning against a wall.

No, not leaning. _Pressing_ against a wall, as if she wants to be swallowed up. Gage panics for a moment; if this is a secondary power, if she can travel through walls, then there's no way he'll be able to get away. Of course, there's _never_ been a chance that he'll be able to get away, but the instinct to panic hasn't left him yet.

But Gage looks for a second longer, and he understands. She is flanked by two other girls; one dark and athletic, the other small. Another stands in front of her; tall, pale, redheaded. Behind those three stands a fourth girl, looking almost forgotten, a brunette. The four other girls are smirking slightly. Gage walks slowly toward them.

"What an ugly bitch, don't you think, Emma?" The short girl's voice is piercing, but not painfully so. The tall girl nods, smirking wider for a moment.

 _Bullying_. That must be why she's an empath. Gage's mind works as he listens.

"Yeah, just like her mom." The girl on the wall flinches slightly, but she doesn't try to move. No effort to fight back.

Gage has heard enough to understand the situation; he's all too familiar with this sort of thing. Even the best armor has a chink. Even his. The taunts continue, and Gage hovers at the periphery, careful not to come too close. He knows that they'll disperse eventually, and when they do, he'll have his chance.

But then the girl's head shoots up and she points. Directly at Gage. She steps forward, off of the wall for just a moment.

Three of the other girls look annoyed; the fourth is just curious.

"You." Her voice trembles for a moment, and then it is far too confident. The other people in the hall back away, and the girl takes another step.

"You were the one I ran into on my run today. You were the one who attacked me on the way to school. You wanted to kill me."

Gage stood silent. None of it was false, but he couldn't exactly confirm that; besides, his limbs didn't quite seem to be responding.

"My name is Taylor, and - "

One of the other girls takes action; the black one. She pulls a crossbow out of nowhere whatsoever and levels it at Gage.

"Don't shoot!" His yell is muffled by the number of people in the hall, but she hears. Gage puts his hands up.

Taylor turns around and sees the crossbow. She starts to put a hand up, and immediately retracts it, looking horrified. The girl with the crossbow fires; the bolt is flying toward Gage and he cannot move, cannot react. That feeling of panic comes for another moment. The bolt strikes right between his ribs, and his shirt is instantly stained with blood. The blood begins to spray from the wound; it coats his hands, and the leather cover of the journal sewn into his shirt.

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, his hands above his head.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂


	3. Chapter 3

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Chapter 3:**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Day 145 - 4/20/11**

 **Taylor was bullied in this timeline. One of the bullies carried a crossbow. Investigate further.**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

It's 6:42 and the road is empty.

It's 7:00 and the road is still empty.

It's 7:30 and the road is still empty. _Where is she?_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Gage walks into Winslow High School. 9:15 again. If her schedule is the same, she'll be somewhere in this hallway.

Gage scans the hallway, but the girl is not there. He walks toward the wall she was clinging to last time. He looks around the hallway, but sees nothing of note. He turns back toward the door to leave.

"Why are you here?" He hears a whisper from behind him, and a knife comes around his throat. It's Taylor's voice; he knows it well by now. But the knife is new. In the past she's used pepper spray or a baton; always something nonlethal. This must have something to do with her Stranger power.

"What do you mean?" Gage tries to keep his voice low.

"I mean, I ran into you earlier this morning. You tried to _kill_ me. Why are you here?"

"I didn't see you this morning." He didn't.

"You don't remember, but you definitely did. I marked you. Check your pocket." Gage reaches into his right pocket, and pulls out a thin red ribbon. Huh.

"Huh. I forgot. That's an interesting power. Very subtle."

The knife tightens against his throat.

"And that's another thing: you _knew_. You knew I had powers. How did you know?"

"I - how do they work, exactly? Your powers, I mean. I'm not forgetting you now. Does it only work when I can see you?"

"Fine, then, don't tell me. But how did you know I was over here?"

 _What the hell. It couldn't hurt_.

"I had a suspicion there might be some bullies giving you trouble. Guess I was wrong."

The girl gasps, and the tension at Gage's neck is released. He takes a step forward and a breath.

But instead of air, he gets blood.

 _Oh_.

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, clutching at his throat.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

This time, Gage goes straight to the school. The runs have been inconsistent lately; the school, however, seems constant. He's there at 7:50; the first bell will ring at 7:55.

7:54. A girl dashes through the front door, long black hair lifting from her shoulders. She doesn't get far; two other girls are in her way. She jumps to the right, tries to run past them, but those two girls mirror her movements. She bumps into the taller one and falls down.

"Really, Hebert? Trying to tackle me? That's assault. My dad's a lawyer, and he _will_ sue if I tell him. I hope your dad can afford to pay for the lawsuit. That job with the Dockworker's Association doesn't pay too well, does it?"

Taylor stands up.

"Sorry, Emma, so sorry, just don't - "

The third girl cuts in.

"The best part is that she _never_ stands up for herself. Knock her down, she takes it. Yell at her, she takes it. She's so _weak_." She's facing her companion, but the words are aimed at Taylor.

"And I can say this right in front of her, and I know that she _still_ \- "

Gage has stepped between the two girls and their victim. Taylor stands behind him; she wants to run, but she's too intrigued by this new development.

"Stop it." His voice is deep and rough; he hasn't had much use for it recently, and the words are a bit unfamiliar in his throat.

"Seriously, Taylor? A _skinhead_? This is sad even for you." The tall girl laughs aggressively; the other smirks, but leans forward, ready, _waiting_.

The tall girl steps to her left and takes a step forward; Taylor turns and runs. The tall girl bends down, reaching for something. "Looks like Taylor dropped her flute."

Gage grabs the girl's and pulls her back up. "I meant it. Stop."

"I meant it, before. My dad's a lawyer. If you touch me again, I'll sue. You can't afford a lawyer any more than Taylor can." The redheaded girl starts to bend down again. "I suggest that you - "

Gage responds quickly. He's suddenly standing on her left, holding her arm with two of his. A standing arm bar. It's funny - he's been practicing these moves every day, but this is the first time he's been able to use them. It's almost liberating.

Properly, he should be on her other side, in order to incapacitate her dominant arm. He doesn't expect her to put up much of a fight, though; the other girl is the one with the crossbow, and he'd rather stay farther away from her.

Emma screams. "I'll really sue! My dad's a good lawyer; you'll go to prison for sure! Maybe if you let me go now, you'll get out before - "

Something snaps and Emma screams louder. Gage shrugs; he'd only meant to increase the tension a bit, but he doesn't have much experience with this. No big loss, in any case.

"Sophia, _HELP!_ Fuck him up! Fuck!"

By now, all of the other students in the hallway have noticed what's going on. A bell rings, signalling the start of classes; its rings are ignored by the students, who are looking at Emma in various stages of fear. Her arm has bent in the wrong direction, just far enough to be utterly grotesque. Some of them are frantically pulling out phones, calling the police; one boy runs away from the scene and turns left into a room. _Principal's Office_ , a plastic black tag indicates. There will be police on the scene in minutes, but that doesn't seem particularly relevant.

The other girl stares Gage in his eyes, not scared enough by half.

"So, Taylor joined the Empire? Can't say I'm too surprised. She should fit right in; she's got exactly the right kind of superiority complex."

"I'm not with the Empire," Gage growls. _I should probably grow some hair_ , he thinks. This has given him _far_ too much trouble over the past few iterations.

"Oh, right, you just shaved your head because you thought it looked cool. Get real. If you shave your head in Brockton Bay, you're a Nazi. End of story."

Gage lets go of Emma; the girl falls to the floor, then scrambles away, pulling out a thin phone with her right arm and crying. She dials a number; again, not particularly relevant. The girl in front of Gage is the real issue here; he knows that she carries a weapon, and she's not afraid to use it. He advances; she backs up, careful to maintain a distance, but not frightened. He dashes toward her, and she dances to the side like a matador. Gage's reflexes are far better than those of a bull, though, and he pivots immediately, grabbing at her shirt.

His hand swipes through the air, _somehow_ missing her, and she jumps backward and reaches behind her back, presumably to retrieve her crossbow. Gage lunges forward, grabbing wildly at her, and somehow he misses _again_. She stands just beside his arm, and before he can retract it, she grabs him, trying to apply a lock not unlike the one he used on Emma. But she's underestimated him; he slips from her hands and throws a punch at her stomach. Suddenly he understands; his fist _passes through her_ and she leaps backward, her stomach solidifying once's she's out of the way. Gage makes the connection immediately. He's read up on all of the capes in Brockton Bay, and based on the crossbow and her power, she must be -

"Shadow Stalker," he says aloud. A few of the kids open their mouths in shock almost immediately, the ones who noticed that she wasn't _avoiding_ hits so much as not being in the way. The rest quickly follow suit, and the girl snarls, angry.

"You _scum_ ," she says angrily. "You _Nazi piece of shit_. You outed me in front of the whole _fucking school_." She lowers her voice; only Gage can hear. "They'd give you a life sentence for this, but I don't think I'm going to give them the chance." She draws her crossbow from behind her; it expands quickly into its full form, and she loads it methodically. Before Gage can move, she hits him in the shoulder and he falls down. It hurts, but he's not dead yet.

"Did you come here to get me? Thought it would be a nice feather in your cap to off one of the black capes in Brockton Bay?" She steps forward and placed her foot over the protruding tip of the bolt; she pushes down slightly, and pain radiates from Gage's shoulder to the rest of his body. She continues.

"You thought that because I'm a kid you could get away with it? You thought that targeting a cape was a good idea? You thought wrong, pal. You're gonna _die_ today." Her voice has become a hiss, but Gage can only laugh.

"You're not the cape I was targeting," he wheezes. Flecks of blood fly from his lips.

"I'm the only cape in this school, dumbass. If you weren't after me, who _were_ you targeting?"

Gage coughs, blood and air come out. The bolt must have punctured a lung while she was grinding it around. He can feel his lungs filling with blood; it won't be long now.

What the hell. Nothing better to do.

"The cape I was targeting . . . was Taylor Hebert." Shadow Stalker's eyes widen and Gage starts to grin; blood has filled in the cracks between his teeth. It would be really embarrassing if her last name was something other than Hebert, but he's pretty sure he heard that name while they were harassing Taylor.

"Taylor Hebert isn't a cape." She sounds almost sure of herself, but the doubt is there. Gage laughs up more blood;

"She's not!" Gage only laughs harder. He can feel the blood pooling in his lungs; it won't be long now.

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, grinning.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **A/N: This is all I've prewritten.**


	4. Chapter 4

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Chapter 4:**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Day 145 - 4/20/11**

 **One of the bullies is Shadow Stalker. The rest are probably unpowered - SS said that there are no other capes in the school, and I'm inclined to believe her. She'll respond aggressively to a shaved head, so wear a wig when interacting with her.**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Taylor Hebert approaches the corner. The time is 7:42. Gage is waiting.

She turns the corner and Gage brandishes his knife, just as he realizes that he forgot the gun. Damn. Still worth a try.

"Wallet. Now."

Taylor is as apprehensive as one would expect. She slowly reaches toward the right pocket in her jeans, where some object is making a rectangular outline. It looks like a wallet, but somehow it never is. _Tinkertech?_ Gage adopts a fighting stance as the girl pulls the device out. It's . . . a wallet. The girl moves to throw it to him, but stops herself.

"You're not here for a wallet." Gage's surprise is evident; the girl continues. "You're here to kill me. You've been planning this for a long time. You've been planning to kill me since . . . since June? June of last year?" The girl's brow furrows, and Gage can't react. "June of _this_ year? It's _April_. How can you - "

"Thinker. Huh." She doesn't tend to get strong Thinker powers; they're not well-suited for combat, and of course the Universe wouldn't want Gage to catch a break. This should be interesting.

"You knew I have a power. _How_ did you - doesn't matter. You think that I've wronged you somehow. You want revenge. I killed someone close to you. I killed a family member. I killed a family member . . . in June of this year? This doesn't make sense. What are you doing to my power?"

 _She doesn't seem to have a strong handle on her powers. I can take advantage of that_.

"No, I didn't kill a family member. Bad assumption. I killed . . . " The girl's incessant talking stops for a moment. Her eyes narrow and study Gage. He begins to step toward her.

"I killed _you_?"

Gage stops.

"Not in June, in January. April. January again. March. May. June. What the _fuck_?"

Her power doesn't deal well with multiple timelines. Well, it could be useful information in a more protracted campaign, but she's vulnerable and he can use it.

"Why don't you tell me about Sophia?" His voice is low, but it carries through the brisk morning air, seeming to target Taylor's ears specifically.

The girl's whole body shoots up. Her shoulders are straight - not straight, tense. Panic seems to be her dominant emotion, followed closely by fear and hysteria. Subconsciously, she presses her arms to her body. She's making herself small, as small as possible; it's as if she wants to vanish completely.

"And how about Em - " Taylor's panic increases with that syllable, and Gage doesn't let the opportunity go to waste. Almost before she notices Gage has closed the distance between them. She starts to turn, but before she's even through ten degrees Gage yanks his arm up, the knife's tip embedding itself in Taylor's abdomen at a steep angle. With a grimace, Gage yanks the knife upward, and Taylor's mouth opens in shock. Blood, again. Blood, blood everywhere. Her heart is beating harder, stronger, and it flings the blood from her chest onto Gage. There's blood on and down his shirt; there's blood on his face and in his eyes. Then there's blood in his mouth. The warm, sickly, metallic taste coats his tongue and his teeth are dark red. Her mouth is still open in shock; her breath gets shallow, but she doesn't seem to notice. Slowly, Gage steps away, leaving the knife embedded in Taylor's gut. She falls down, and her breathing stops.

After a minute, Gage is still there. He stoops down to her level. Her eyes are wide. She's quickly going pale; blood loss is setting in. Her wound is bubbling; perhaps a punctured lung is letting out air.

But her mouth . . . it's _wrong_.

Her mouth curls in the faintest of smiles. Rivulets of blood stripe her lips, flowing down their veined canals. Her teeth are red. Blood pools in the back of her throat.

His mind starts to drift backward. _Gage starts to grin; blood has filled in the cracks between his teeth._ In his mind's eye, Gage sees Sophia's face paling with his. And now Taylor is here.

But that's it. It's over now.

. . .

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, his face pale.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

This time, she does not struggle.

Taylor throws the wallet to Gage and shrinks into herself. He steps over it, waiting for some trap to emerge. Is it explosive? Some sort of poison gas? Taylor is looking down; perhaps averting her eyes. Some sort of light-based grenade?

No trap emerges. He advances further, and Taylor cowers. Whimpers. Behind her voice, there is fear and nothing else. Gage stabs her in the gut, just like last time. She gasps, cries out, and then stops moving.

No attempt to run. No attempt to fight back. She slumps over, taking the knife down with her, and Gage steps backward.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, her whimper still burned into his mind.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Gage stabs her in the head; she gasps, cries out, and then stops moving. _Why won't it_ _ **end**_ _?_ He pulls the knife back and stabs her again. This time, he punctures her neck; there is no noise except the soft gurgle of blood leaving the body. Again, Gage stabs; the corpse in front of him is unresponsive.

Blow after blow after blow. Blood pouring from all over the body. Gage has been at it for five minutes, and nothing will happen. Taylor lays lifeless; her only movement is the slight shifting that occurs whenever Gage hits. But even the corpse is more effective.

Gage falls forward over the corpse. The knife deflects off of the the ground at a weird angle and slices across his arm, but Gage does not notice. He is covered in blood, now, as is everything else within five yards. He tries to scream. The blood flows down his face into his open mouth; he coughs and closes it, his rage still bottled inside his throat.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed, unable to move.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

7:42. Taylor rounds the corner, as always, and Gage brandishes his knife; he's forgone the gun again.

Even before he speaks, she is reaching for her wallet. She throws it over his head and tries to run, but Gage is still in better shape. He catches up to her and traps her against the wall. Slowly, deliberately, he puts the tip of the knife on her neck, the rage still bottled in his throat. Taylor wants to scream, but she cannot, or the knife will puncture her. Instead, she just cries.

Gage's eyes narrow, and she averts hers. Then, without warning, Gage howls. Birds fly off of the top of the surrounding buildings. Taylor jumps, and nearly impales herself on the knife at her neck.

Gage inhales deeply, and Taylor glances up at him. His eyes are manic; hers are panicked.

"Why?" Gage's voice is low, almost a murmur; Taylor can't quite tell if he's talking to her or not. She can't very well ask, either. She stares, terrified.

Without warning, he drops the knife and turns away. The blade clatters on the cement, bouncing between their feet. Taylor jumps to the side, away from the blade's erratic jumps, and reaches to her hip, drawing her pepper spray. She points it at Gage, her hands shaking.

Gage walks away. Slow, careful steps echo off of the walls. A small spot of white light appears on his back, the reflection of the sun off of the blade. Suddenly there is a loud bang. A gunshot. Taylor whimpers as red starts to stain the front of Gage's shirt. He slumps to the black concrete, filling its cracks with crimson blood. The pistol in Taylor's hands turns back to a can of pepper spray and she pockets it shakily, terrified of her own hand.

"I still can't . . . walk away." Gage is talking to nobody in particular, but Taylor can hear him. She grips the can of pepper spray tighter.

"I say . . . God is dead." Gage sprouts a wry, ironic smile. "And we will burn together. The road goes ever on and on." He laughs dryly, and more blood comes up. Always, it's blood.

Taylor would question him, but she remembers the old adage about cornered animals, and decides to keep her lips sealed. Instead, she kicks his knife behind her, bringing it even farther out of Gage's reach. She puts her hand in her pocket, grips the pepper spray, and repositions her hand to fit around the pistol. She waits, quietly, for any sign of aggression.

But Gage does not advance. Instead, he turns and lies down, flat on his back. Taylor inches around him, keeping the gun trained on him at all times.

A few moments later, Gage is dead.

A few moments later, Gage wakes up in bed and laughs.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **A/N: Had some extra time today and finished this early; it's a bit short, but size doesn't matter. As always, criticism is appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Chapter 5:**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Gage wakes up in bed and scribbles something in his notebook. A phone number. A serial number. A note about Ward policy. A couple of URLs.

Gage wakes up in bed and reaches for his notebook again. He begins adding check marks to these new entries. Some, he scratches out instead. Most remain.

Gage wakes up in bed and repeats the same routine. Check marks, again, next to every entry that hasn't been struck through already.

Gage wakes up in bed and quickly leaves the room.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

At 7:42, Taylor rounds a corner. Her breathing is even.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

At 7:45, Emily Piggot wakes up. She pours herself a bowl of granola and checks her email.

 _Shadow Stalker/Sophia Hess 5:10 AM (3 hours ago)_

 _to me_

 _Hello,_

 _I have some important information regarding the ward Shadow Stalker, known in her civilian identity as Sophia Hess. I would like to meet with you or a representative at earliest convenience. I will be waiting in front of Central Library._

Emily's face is tense, but not afraid. She pulls out her mobile phone. Scrolls through the list of contacts until she finds the right name. Well, not a name, exactly; that would be a gaping hole in cyber security. She composes a short text and sends it.

 _Somebody knows Shadow Stalker's identity. Central Library. There's no time to lose_. _Call for more details._

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Gage waits in front of the library, as promised. A bearded, bespectacled man approaches him.

"Are you Gage Argus?" The man's voice is gruff, detached in an aggressive sort of way.

"I presume that you're with the PRT." Gage attempts to mirror the other man's tone, but he doesn't quite succeed. Armsmaster looks annoyed.

"Damn, this is going to be difficult," he mutters under his breath.

 _True_.

Useless fucking piece of tech. It's not supposed to register statements from the user. Armsmaster makes a mental note to fix that, then continues.

"Are you Gage Argus? Yes or no." Gone is the detachment; it's replaced by a terse anger.

"Yes, I am."

 _True_.

"I'm going to need you to come with me." The man produces a pair of handcuffs, and Gage offers his arms; the shackles already holding him are far stronger than these hunks of metal. The man attaches the handcuffs and leads Gage to a motorcycle in the parking lot. _Armsmaster_.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Armsmaster is not a particularly cautious driver, but neither is he slow. Within five minutes, he is walking into the Protectorate headquarters, Gage in tow. Armsmaster is assuring him that there was no danger whatsoever, that despite the frequency of high-speed near-misses during the commute, the bike was quickly calculating all trajectories involved, and would have averted any potential collisions. Perhaps this is his version of "good cop," or perhaps he just likes bragging about his tech, and the only people who will listen are in custody. In any case, his reassurances are unneeded; removed from immediate danger, Gage is not so afraid of death.

A few minutes later, the two men are seated across from each other. Their faces are separated by about two feet. Gage's face is blank. Part of it is intentional; he knows that this is, above all, an interrogation, and he doesn't want to give up any information about himself or his knowledge without intending it, even if that information is false. He wants his face to be unreadable, rather than misleading.

But, more importantly, his face can't decide what to do with itself. This place, this time, this event, all are wholly new. Gage isn't sure how to describe how he's feeling; it's shock, surprise, perhaps excitement. Nervousness. All of those words have blended together in his mind, and their only association is with this vague sort of anticipation; all of the nuance has decayed.

Across from him, Armsmaster maintains a similar mask. This one is entirely intentional; his mask covers most of his face, and the exposed bit is being regulated by muscle relaxants. The interrogator should never be the one giving up information.

"How did you learn about Shadow Stalker?" Armsmaster is the first to break the silence; it's stretched on just long enough that Gage should be feeling some discomfort. Armsmaster hopes to set the other man on edge, but not on the defensive; furthermore, it would not do for the questioner to speak second, else he would lose control of the conversation. Hence, now.

"I happened upon her at Winslow. Made the connection." Gage's voice is careful and clipped, each word spoken deliberately. There is no room for accidental expression.

 _True_. Armsmaster considers this. 'Made the connection' is as vague a statement as possible; that seems like the line of questioning to pursue.

"You say you 'made the connection.' How, exactly, did you do that? Do you have some sort of Parahuman ability?"

And now it is Gage's turn to think. He suspects, at least, the presence of a lie detector, although his suspicion is in the direction of a concealed Thinker, rather than a piece of technology. There seems to be no way around this one.

"Yes, I have a Parahuman ability." Gage pauses, to allow the statement to register. _True_. "However, I did not intend to discover her identity - " another pause, _True_ \- "and it did not help me do so." _False_.

 _There it is. Got him_. Armsmaster almost smiles.

"Well, that's not entirely true." _Damn_. "If not for my power, I never would have discovered her identity, but the power didn't help me come to that realization based on the evidence available."

 _True_. Again. This is confusing as hell.

"What is your power?" A long shot, but the potential payoff is huge.

"Irrelevant." _True. Huh_. "In my email, I claimed to have important knowledge about Sophia." Armsmaster winces at the use of her name, but he understands its purpose; a reminder that he doesn't have all of the information, and without Gage's cooperation, he won't get it.

"Yes, you did so claim." Armsmaster's lie detector is busy evaluating Gage's previous statement, but a quick response is best here. He hates to admit it, but without Gage's cooperation, the Protectorate stands to lose a lot; at the very least, Gage's knowledge of Sophia makes him a powerful Thinker, strong enough to be worth recruiting.

"Would you like to hear it?" Another power play. Armsmaster is forced to concede that his bluff has been called; he has no more control over this conversation than Gage is willing to give up.

"Yes."

"Shadow Stalker is actively violating her probation, both by use of lethal ammunition and by conducting a violent, protracted bullying campaign in her civilian identity. I suspect that she is also guilty of assault with a Parahuman power." Some of the phrases jumble in Gage's mouth,and he's forced to slow down and think. The message, though, remains clear. And Armsmaster can't quite bring himself to doubt any of it. It's certainly consistent with her personality. He mentally segments the statement into three parts, so that the lie detector can evaluate the three claims separately; he dreads, but doesn't quite expect, an answer in the affirmative.

A moment later, his fears are confirmed. _True* | True* | True_. Three truths, two qualified. More questioning is required.

"How do you know these things?" Perfect. Direct enough to clear up doubt, but far from opaque in its intention. Gage does not speak immediately, but he doesn't seem to be hesitating. He speaks without requiring another prompt.

"I cannot, in good conscience, discuss my suspicions regarding parahuman assault, without consulting a third party which I will not name." _True._ Intentionally useless, but at least not a lie.

"But I know about the bullying because I saw it, and I know about the bolts because she shot me." _True* | True_. Armsmaster begins a quick medical scan, but his software finds no significant mass of scar tissue. Two new lines of questioning are open, and at least one regards Gage's power. Brute _and_ Thinker, a rare combination. Both will likely prove fruitful. But before that, there is another line that should be exhausted.

"How do you know the terms of Shadow Stalker's probation?"

"I don't, exactly. I was able to find some similar cases online, so I'm working based on those." Gage doesn't mention that those cases are ancient, but since Armsmaster hasn't called out the contradiction, it seems that his guess was correct. Meanwhile, Armsmaster's interface displays _True_. That clears up that.

"Fine. Now, we have other matters. You said that - " Armsmaster is interrupted by a soft squeaking as the door opens. A woman walks through the opening, dressed in camo. Her face is concealed by an American flag.

"Armsmaster. We've got to check this information immediately. He's not going anywhere." She turns to Gage. "You're not going anywhere, by the way. We'll have to keep you in custody, at least until we've determined whether you're telling the truth." Gage nods. "Seriously, we need to check on this right now. Let's go." Armsmaster stands, his shoulders just a little lower than they were before he sat down. He follows the woman, visibly annoyed by having his work interrupted.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

A call is made to a secure phone. Words are exchanged.

An hour later, Shadow Stalker is sitting in a Protectorate holding cell, less than a hundred feet away from Gage.

A call is made to the Barnes household. More words are exchanged.

Down the hall, Gage can hear an interrogation being conducted. It seems that nobody is making an effort to conceal the noise; perhaps they've forgotten that Gage is there, or perhaps they think that he will figure it out anyway. Either way, he is grateful, both for the diversion and for the satisfaction.

More hours pass and the interrogation in the other room gains some heat. Most of the noise seems to be coming from Shadow Stalker. Lots of back-and-forth, little real progress. Sometime during this time, a sandwich on a plate appears in Gage's cell. Lunch. He eats it distractedly, still listening to the proceedings in the other cell.

Somebody else enters the building. He claims to be a lawyer, and probably is. The lawyer's presence saps the energy from whatever is happening in the other room; with legal counsel present, Shadow Stalker seems much more subdued. More hours pass. Another plate makes its way into Gage's room. Steak and potatoes.

Finally, the lawyer leaves. A weary Armsmaster trudges away from Shadow Stalker's cell, carefully secures it, and opens the door to meet with Gage.

"This took a bit longer than we expected. It looks like your information was good. However, it's nearly ten o'clock, and I have a mountain of paperwork that has to be filled out overnight. I still have some questions for you, unfortunately, so I'll have to keep you in here overnight. Sorry about that." And with that, Armsmaster exits, closes, and secures the cell.

And suddenly Gage sees the flaw.

He shouts, but Armsmaster is already gone, leaving Gage to try to sleep.

But he hasn't been able to sleep for almost half a year.

Gage tries to sleep anyway. In the first ten minutes, nothing happens; the cot in his cell isn't particularly uncomfortable, but Gage can feel its rough texture scratching against the skin of his back. He's reminded, briefly, of the parable of the princess and the pea; even the slightest imperfection seems magnified.

But after a while, Gage grows a bit more accustomed to the sensation, and it bothers him less and less. His body loses its tenseness, and for the first time in far too long, he feels loose. Comforted.

And then something strange begins to happen. Underneath him, Gage can feel a tiny variation in the texture of the bedding. It's less coarse, less inflexible. His eyes are closed, but if he could see, he would see the room around him blurring into something far more familiar. He half-notes the transformation, but his reverie has progressed just far enough that he's unbothered by it.

A moment later, Gage wakes up

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **A/N: I suppose this is "an extension of 'the mugger who tried to attack alternative Taylor'"; I'm not familiar with the fandom at large, but from what I've read, that sort of situation comes up often in Worm fics, and this is where my mind went with that idea. I won't clear up the snippets much for pretentious purity reasons, but here, perhaps, is a bit of light:**

 **For the most part, the line breaks represent a gap in time from Gage's perspective (his timeline is all windy and criss-crossy, so he's the only person who makes sense as a reference point.) I'm not giving a lot of exposition after line breaks, but in most cases, I think that the situation can be inferred from the text, with some margin of error; there's a trick to this style, which I'll point out after the next chapter, once I've used it and felt clever. The last chapter was more ambiguous in this respect, which is intentional.**

 **Anyway, toward the actual story: we're getting into the endgame, and I think I'll be able to finish within a chapter. Hopefully, I'll get that done within the next few days.**

 **As always, criticism is appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 **Chapter 6**

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

and the bed beneath him immediately reverts. For a short moment, he's not sure what woke him; his senses come back online, and he hears a low, forceful voice, not quite a whisper. It's not loud, but it is harsh, and it grates on his ears. He can't quite make out the words it's saying, but there's a violent intent in the tone.

" . . . your fault I'm in this shithole." Gage recovers his mental faculties just in time to catch the end of the sentence. He glances around, but instead of the familiar, flecked cream walls of his own room, he sees the chrome of the Protectorate cell. And to his left, draped in and hidden by shadow, there's a figure.

A figure holding a crossbow.

Shadow Stalker.

The weapon is steady and pointing directly at Gage.

"Talk, you fucking Nazi bastard. How did you know?" Sophia's voice is a hiss; Gage guesses, based on her annoyance, that she's just repeating the question that he missed waking up.

"I'm not a Nazi." Gage's voice is less aggressive than hers, but not meek. Sophia's grip on the crossbow tightens. "How did you get in here?"

"You didn't think I would be stupid enough to tell them everything I can do, did you? Actually, you probably did. They don't know that I can dissociate." Sophia's face takes on an angry grin. "And now you're going to pay for what you did."

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Three floors above Gage and Sophia, Armsmaster is snoring, his head resting on the wood of his desk, when he hears a piercing beeping noise through the speakers on his helmet. He wakes up quickly.

 _Where am I?_ His first thought, as always, is one of location. _The office. I really need to stop crashing here. Can't be efficient if I can't control my sleep schedule._ These few thoughts flash quickly across Armsmaster's mind before another beep comes through his helmet. He signals acknowledgment, and a map of the building pops up in his interface, one red dot blinking conspicuously.

 _Shadow Stalker. Shit_.

Armsmaster doesn't lose another moment. It takes him ten seconds to reach the staircase; he could have made it in eight, but going down the stairs immediately would have put the Halberd back in range, and he can't risk grabbing it manually, losing time and leaving himself open to attack. Better to activate the automatic retrieval mechanism. Sure enough, the weapon materializes in his hand, and he quickly descends the stairs. Down a floor, then two.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Shadow Stalker won't let up; that much is clear to Gage. If he wants to escape, he'll have to take her out.

But she's pointing a lethal weapon directly at him, and both skilled and angry enough to use it. He, on the other hand, is prone, unarmed, mostly naked, and totally incapable of hurting her. He remembers the last time they fought hand-to=hand; that time, Gage had the initiative, plus a strong contextual advantage, and he still died.

The first step, of course, is a distraction. Luckily, she's an angsty teenager with a severe superiority complex. If there's one thing she wants to do, it's to talk about her own intelligence.

"They'll catch you, you know. There are security cameras in here, and you're not exactly inconspicuous. They'll have video evidence. Do you really want to throw your life away to kill a - " _fuck, this might backfire_ \- "skinhead?"

Gage half expects her to shoot him on the spot; instead, she laughs.

"Let me explain how this works. You _Don't. Out. Capes._ " Here her voice loses its mocking tone; she is dead serious. "The Protectorate is acting against me, but that doesn't mean they give a shit about _you_. We pretty much know how this is going to go down already; they'll charge me for violating probation, I'll skip town, and they'll decide I'm not worth the effort. I relocate, everybody wins. I kill you, they don't really care. Maybe they decide to bring me in, but nobody's going to Cage me for it. I kill you, maybe they get mad at me, but most of them are probably _grateful_. You went after my identity; there's nothing to say you won't go after others. Nominally, the Protectorate can't execute you, but they can arrange some sort of accident to take you out of the way. Really, I'm doing them a big favor here." Sophia is leering now.

"But I didn't out you," Gage protests. "I have a power that let me put things together, but I didn't tell anybody who didn't already know."

"Doesn't matter. You acted on your information. The Protectorate has no mercy for that sort of shit, and neither do I."

Gage tries to continue the conversation; he's rolled over almost completely, and with a little more time, he'll be able to spring from the bed and get to his feet without being shot. But as he opens his mouth, Sophia fires.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Armsmaster sprints down the hallway. His Halberd is drawn, and he remembers exactly where Gage's cell is. According to his interface, Shadow Stalker is there as well. This won't end well.

The question of her escape remains; she shouldn't have been able to leave the cell. Based on his information about her powers, she shouldn't have been able to pass through the electrified bars. But that is a question for later. For now, the primary objective is to stop any conflict that might be going on. Really, the objective is to stop Sophia, but neutral phrasing is the key to impartiality.

Armsmaster rounds a corner, then another. He doesn't have any sort of speed enhancement, and he's regretting that now; still, he's in pretty good shape, and making good time.

He dashes around a final corner. Gage's cell should be the third on the left. Armsmaster crashes through the door; opening it would be a waste of time. He sees the two figures standing apart from each other, Sophia looking angrier than usual, Gage lying on the bed. The rest of the Protectorate should have been notified automatically; a hostile agent in headquarters is a massive problem. They should be arriving within minutes; faster, in Velocity's case. Armsmaster just has to keep the situation stable for a while. Shadow Stalker is a powerful mover, but she doesn't have a chance against the assembled Brockton Bay Protectorate. That means the tactic is delay, not destroy. Just a few minutes, and -

Armsmaster is thinking at a million miles per hour, but his eyes don't move with the same speed; as he continues his survey of the room, he sees a color out of place. His helmet checks it automatically. Red on the blankets.

The light mounted on his helmet comes on, and he sees a crossbow bolt sticking askew out of Gage's chest. Definitely Shadow Stalker's. The girl has just noticed the crashing of the door, and she turns in shock. Almost immediately, she turns to gas and floats toward the wall; Armsmaster activates the taser on his Halberd and shocks her, reverting her to a solid state. She tries again, and again she fails; escape is futile.

Meanwhile, Armsmaster alerts Panacea; she's always awake late. He's often admired her work ethic in the past, and now it might save a valuable life. She'll be here soon as well; the primary objective now is to keep Gage alive.

It doesn't take Armsmaster long to cross the small room. He begins a medical scan of Gage; internal and external bleeding, shallow breathing. A punctured renal artery, and possibly some damage to the lung, by virtue of the shallow angle of incidence.

Armsmaster's display recommends a dosage after a few seconds. The Halberd begins to rotate, folding in on itself, and three syringes emerge. Armsmaster quickly puts the weapon-turned-medical-instrument to Gage's leg and begins the injection. As the syringes empty, the rest of the Halberd continues to rotate on itself, leaving exposed the taser, and revealing more medical aids. A roll of gauze. Disinfectant. As soon as the injection has finished, Armsmaster begins to work on the body. The first thing is to maintain blood pressure; the Halberd can automate that. The wound itself can wait; the bolt fills its hole rather neatly, and if it's removed, the flow of blood will no longer be stymied. Bad.

Armsmaster has been working for about thirty seconds now, but nothing is working. Too much internal damage, and too much blood lost already. Suddenly, a breakthrough. The rate of blood loss is slowing significantly, to a manageable level.

His helmet beeps, and he allows it to grab his attention for a moment.

No heartbeat.

Oh.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Armsmaster takes Sophia back into custody and finds a much more secure cell for her. She doesn't struggle; it's futile, now.

A woman in a black suit appears from nowhere and pulls a small, leather notebook away from Gage's body. She makes no noise, and after a few seconds, she is gone again. A few moments later, Armsmaster resets the video cameras. He'll have to check on that; there could be a short somewhere.

Perhaps the rest of the story goes well. Gage does not know.

Gage does not wake up.

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂  
 **A/N: Based on reviews from this chapter, I've read through this story again, and I've decided that I'm not really done with it; there are a lot of things in my head that somehow never found their way onto the page, which makes this even choppier than I intended. I will say that Gage is the only looping character (Time Braid was confusing and hell and I don't trust myself to keep track of timelines efficiently), but expect an epilogue soon clearing up some of the other questions.**


	7. Chapter 7

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Epilogue:**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Days 1-10**_

 _ **If you're reading this, I am free.**_

 _ **I don't know if anybody will ever read this.**_

 _ **It started on Day 1. That was the day that I died.**_

 _ **In my defense, I was starving. I hadn't eaten anything but scraps in a month, and without a consistent source of income, that wasn't going to change anytime soon. I had just turned eighteen, which disqualified me from state support, but with my family background, they probably wouldn't have helped me out anyway.**_

 _ **So that was the day I turned to crime, in the great Argus tradition. I didn't join the Empire or anything; I wasn't looking for a permanent fixture, and besides, they killed my dad. I just needed to get back on my feet, and then I would wash my hands of it. Just one job, one mugging. That was it.**_

 _ **It went smoothly at first. She was out on a morning run, but she stopped when she saw my knife. I asked for her wallet, she pulled it out and threw it to my feet, and she turned to run while I bent over to grab it.**_

 _ **The wallet was almost in my hand when I heard a buzzing in my ear. A fly. I shooed it away with my hand, but it wouldn't leave. Another fly appeared on the other side of my head.**_

 _ **I looked up, and the girl wasn't running away anymore. Instead, she was staring at me, her face twisted in a wide range of competing emotions. Her hands were shaking and her legs twitched; her body language almost suggested that she was going to turn around. But her staring face stayed completely still.**_

 _ **After the flies came the bees and mosquitoes. Then the spiders. The wasps. I started convulsing uncontrollably in response to the sheer magnitude of venomous bites.**_

 _ **I never stood a chance.**_

 _ **But then I woke up in my bed, still convulsing, with not a mark on me. I ran outside, and there was snow on the ground. I had died two months after I woke up; I was seventeen again, and nothing made sense.**_

 _ **I died again that day; I was at the library, frantically trying to figure out what happened to me, when the library exploded.**_

 _ **I woke up again.**_

 _ **As the title to this entry indicates, I've been doing this for ten days now. I'm pretty sure I have a parahuman ability; apparently there are these things called "trigger events," which happen when somebody is in a moment of extreme stress and then they get powers. I'm not sure if**_ **every** ** _cape has a trigger event, but it seems like I definitely did._**

 _ **I've done enough experimenting to figure out how to bring along a diary; apparently, my clothes stay the same when I die, and if I sew the diary into my shirt, it stays with me.**_

 _ **It seems like that girl kills me every day; she's always got some bullshit power that kills me in collateral damage, or else she sees me and uses her power directly. I guess that's karma.**_

 _ **The looping is maddening, though; I can't do anything with my power, because it's all erased within a day. Hopefully someday I'll find a way to end the cycle; it'll probably kill me, but that's not so much worse than my current state.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 22**_

 _ **I finally found out what happened to my dad. Looks like he got into a fight with another Empire member. He won the fight, but apparently killing another member pissed off Kaiser too much, and they had him dealt with. He was out one night alone; he probably didn't stand a chance.**_

 _ **I can't say I'm angry, though. From what I've heard, he sort of deserved what he got.**_

 _ **Still no leads on ending the loop. That girl has been showing up in person a lot more, which is probably not a good sign.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 35**_

 _ **I think I might have figured out how to end the loop, and I don't like it.**_

 _ **Yesterday, I tried my best to stay away from that girl. I left town first thing in the morning, and I was in Illinois by noon.**_

 _ **But she started fighting Scion at 12:30, and they made their way across the United States, leaving a trail of scorched earth. They flew over me about fifteen minutes later, and one of her attacks hit me.**_

 _ **So it seems like no matter what I do, she ends up killing me.**_

 _ **And I think that the only way for me to end the loop is for me to kill her.**_

 _ **I'm not going to act on anything, but I don't really have any other ideas.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 38**_

 _ **Something was wrong with Brockton Bay yesterday. Most of the city was flooded or straight-up destroyed; I tried to find out what happened, but I died before I could find any information.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 51**_

 _ **I can't do this anymore.**_

 _ **The loop is driving me insane. There's always something wrong with Brockton Bay; the buildings are in different positions, or the docks are running, or it's completely flooded and destroyed.**_

 _ **I'm going to go after her. I really don't want to kill anybody, but I'll do anything to get out of this. Besides, she's killed me fifty times now; I think I owe her.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 52**_

 _ **I didn't even scratch her. She had some sort of pyrokinesis that bypassed the Manton effect; set my hair on fire before I could get close. This is going to be more difficult than I thought.**_

 _ **I've started bringing a gun to our confrontations; my neighbor Jake owns one, and it's not hard to lift it from his house without him noticing. It might help at some point.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 62**_

 _ **She was Legend, I swear. She could fly and her lasers turned corners.**_

 _ **I'm not sure why she has powers in every loop, but it's really getting on my nerves. They're always strong powers, too; I might have a chance at killing a weak cape, but Legend? Not a chance.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 65**_

 _ **I've started studying Karate and Jiu Jitsu; it probably won't make much of a difference, but if she ever has a weak Brute power, I want to be ready.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 67**_

 _ **My clothes carry over from day to day; I wonder if that works for my body as well. It might be worthwhile for me to start working out, just in case**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 72**_

 _ **This time she was Jack Slash, and that's the most terrifying I've seen her yet. She killed me from twenty feet away with a pocket knife; I don't think she even meant to do it.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 77**_

 _ **The exercise seems to be working; I could only do 12 pull-ups on Day 67, and I've improved that to 20 now. I've also found a way to get protein supplements; they might help me build muscle faster, and if they don't, I don't think the owners will miss them.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 82**_

 _ **The martial arts research was helpful; we got into a fistfight last time, and I was able to hold my own for a few seconds. She ended up ripping out my arm, but I guess that's to be expected of somebody with a strong Brute power. If she had been a bit weaker, I think I might have pulled it off.**_

 _ **I've also started researching the history of Parahuman abilities. She seems to get the powers of known capes in some loops; if I can identify her powers early in a fight, I'll stand a better chance at beating her.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 92**_

 _ **I don't think I really stand a chance at beating her.**_

 _ **I'm strong enough now that I could have beat her on Day 42. She was a low-to-mid-power Brute with some sort of Blaster power; I think I could have taken a hit from her, and if I had gotten in close, I probably would have won. But her powers keep getting stronger, always just strong enough that I don't really have a chance. When I wrestle her, she's a Brute; when I shoot her, she's resistant to guns.**_

 _ **But at least this has given me something to do. I'm not mentally healthy, really, but I'm less neurotic than I was before. So I think I'll keep trying. Besides, I kind of fucking hate that girl.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 102 – 5/21/11**_

 _ **The city was flooded again, and I finally figured out why. Apparently Leviathan on May 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **, and he took out most of the city.**_

 _ **I've decided to start keeping track of dates; I don't remember the dates of the other days when the city was flooded, but I'm pretty sure they all happened after May 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **, which means there's some sort of consistency in the looping. Maybe it'll help me figure something out about my power.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 111 – 1/11/11**_

 _ **Nothing special happened today, but that's a nice date.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

 _ **Day 113 – 2/16/11**_

 _ **Jake's gun was in the same place today as it was on Day 104, which was also 2/16/11. Seems like there's some continuity between dates, which confirms the Leviathan observation. Doesn't seem to be particularly useful, but knowledge is power, so I guess it's good to know.**_

̂˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜̂

Two people, a man and a woman, are sitting on opposite ends of a table, in a room that looks like the envy of stainless steel rooms everywhere. The room is perfectly, uniformly colored a chrome silver, not quite reflective enough to be distracting; two seats and a table, made of the same material, are incorporated perfectly into the floor, with no seam to connect them.

On one end of the table sits a woman in a black suit, typing rapidly on two phones without looking at either. Around the world, her text messages are received; heroes and villains leap into action at her command, safe in the knowledge that they will survive the confrontation.

On the other end sits a middle-aged man, as inconspicuous as can be. He is reading intently through a few pages torn from a notebook, a notebook that is sitting on the table between them.

Finally, he finished reading the last entry in the stack.

"You say he's dead, Contessa?" The woman across the table is already looking up, as if she had known that he would speak.

"Yes, David. Killed by Shadow Stalker."

"That's unfortunate. A power like that might have been useful; could have given us a second chance at fighting Scion, if things went wrong." David's face is weary, but he does not seem too unhappy. He is used to disappointment of a far greater magnitude.

"Mm, perhaps. In any case, it seems likely that that girl has a power, and if this record is accurate, she should be fairly powerful. Look into it when you have time."

"Legend won't like it. He'll want to know how I knew."

"I can smooth things over with Legend. Make sure you get in touch with the girl."

"And what should we do about the Leviathan attack?"

"I'll talk to the Tinkers, make sure we have some tech ready. We can't afford to alter things too much, though, or the Simurgh might intervene, and we'll lose our advantage."

"How much of a difference can we make?"

"I can't model the Endbringers, so we'll have to act conservatively. Maybe a few thousand or so. One or two capes. Not much, but it'll help." The woman was

"Damn. I wish there was more I can do."

"I know, but we can't risk this chance, David. This is the most forewarning we've ever had for an Endbringer attack. We've got to make the most of it." The man sighed, and the woman rose from her seat. "Goodbye. Remember the girl. Door."

Reality tore itself open in front of the woman, and she stepped through the resulting hole, leaving the room and appearing thousands of miles away. As she left, the man rose from his seat and vanished, a small pop echoing through the empty room.

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 **A/N: I can't believe it took me so long to get this typed up and posted, but here it is. Hopefully this clears up some of the ambiguities, but not too many. As always, criticism is appreciated.**


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